Nobody’s asphalt
Long before GPS, when I got lost, I’d drive to the nearest gas station to ask for directions. At night, reinforced (possibly bullet-proof) glass stood between me and the attendant. It was a sure-fire tip-off that you were in a bad neighborhood.
Sometimes, the clerk had a microphone, just like the kind you’d find at a drive-through burger joint, and that clerk was harder to understand than Charlie Brown’s math teacher. I’d ask, “How do I get back to Pittsburgh from here?” All I heard was a trombone. Sometimes, you’d have to bend down real low and speak into the half-moon hole, the hole people used to slide their cash or credit card into after they made a purchase.
Recently, I went to the township manager’s office to lodge a formal complaint and found a familiar sight: a clerk behind a glass partition. It was an auspicious sign.
I went down to complain because the township manager decided to pave the road to the community pool on Tuesday, November 3, i.e., Election Day — the ONE DAY in November when voters from the neighborhood had to drive to the community pool and vote.
Through the reinforced glass, I complained to a clerk who hadn’t made the decision but still caught the fallout. I tried to be sympathetic. I wasn’t good at it, but – if it’s any consolation – I didn’t raise my voice.
In confrontations, I tend to laugh — not the ideal way to show sympathy, but I found the entire scenario ridiculous. The township could’ve paved the road any day between Labor Day and Memorial Day, but they chose Election Day, when the park would be in use.
I said, “Dude (in my 10 years in California, I learned that ‘dude’ is a gender-neutral term), I know this wasn’t your call. I’ve had to explain my boss’ bad decisions from behind a counter. No picnic. But closing the road to the polling place on Election Day? That’s hinky — or, as the kids say, sus.”
I pictured a mischievous martinet saying, “Let’s make voting an obstacle course!”
Instead of writing down the complaint, the clerk kept bringing up irrelevant points. He made a variety of excuses. He said, “Decisions were made at the last minute,” and “They added extra polling stations.”
My concern was that old people (not me) would get confused and walk up the hill to vote instead of driving there.
There was no detour sign. There was no flagger in a yellow vest rerouting traffic. Luckily, I found a way around the road work by following the car coming down in the other direction, cutting through the parking lot.
My point was that getting to the polls shouldn’t require guesswork. All I got were excuses.
I hate to sound like my old boss, but I didn’t want excuses, I wanted action. I will remember this the next time I have to vote for local officials.
I’m nice, but I know how to hold a grudge.